


Chaos.

by turtleneckprick



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Music, Panic Attacks, protect Michael Mell - Freeform, sad!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 01:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtleneckprick/pseuds/turtleneckprick
Summary: When you're all alone your mind wanders... Michael's panicked mind encapsulates him.[Michael begins to have a panic attack while he's home alone+how he recovers from it]Trigger Warning//descriptive anxiety attack+drug use





	Chaos.

**Author's Note:**

> (Michael is partially Filipino in this:))

Michael could feel the air growing thin. “Just breathe,” he told himself, “breathe.” He stood up, impatient, waiting for the feeling of suffocation to disappear, but as he stood, he immediately felt nausea crawl over him. Vertigo was a bitch. He paced for a second, examining his surroundings.Trying to find somewhere he could comfortably cope with everything happening. Everything felt like it was time-lapsed, moving so fast he could barely keep up. His vision began to blur and he suddenly couldn't swallow. With hasty and unorganized thoughts drilling through his head, Michael leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. He now realized how rapid his breathing had become as he struggled to control it. His whole body was shaking, but he didn't notice right away. So much was going through his mind. The more he tried to focus on one thing the more thin the air became. Michael wasn't even sure how this attack started, what was he worried about? Did something happen? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember? He cradled himself as he slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth. Trembling. Hot tears streamed down his face. He was sobbing. He hadn't realized it till now. He let out a shaky breath and pushed his glasses up into his hair (to where they would later fall off without him noticing) as he dried his eyes with the palms of his hands. His hands felt clammy and sweaty and made him feel irritated and ill. Michael changed position to sitting criss-cross and vigorously wiped his hands on his jeans. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, focus on breathing, focus on who he was, where he was, and his current state. He dribbled his fingers against his knees. He needed to distract himself, but he also needed to focus, but distracting himself from focusing was a lot easier. He couldn't focus, but he needed to. Why couldn't he focus? “Why can't I just focus!?” He said to himself. He closed his eyes tighter. “Focus, focus, focus, focus,” he repeated, as he returned to rocking. “Tumutok.” Michael’s mind was in such a frantic state of panic that he couldn't remember what his first language was, or whether words in English or Tagalog were escaping his mouth. Running his fingers through his hair, he struggled to remove the strands from his field of vision. They were distracting him. They were tormenting him. They were strangling him. Michael suddenly felt claustrophobic. As he pushed his hair back his hands suddenly felt to close to his face. His clammy, sweaty hands, were so invasive. So close to his face. So suffocating. He let go of his hair and slumped out of his criss-cross position, to where now his head was leaning over, just three inches above the floor, and his arms wrapped around his torso. “Fuck.” His voice cracked and he let out a small sob as the word painfully escaped through his clenched teeth. He didn't know what to do. It was like his own body was fighting against him, he wanted to leave, to separate himself from his being. He sat up and leaned his back against the wall. He sat there for awhile, trying to compose himself. He drummed his fingers on his knees again. He needed relief. The only way he knew how.  
It was too late to call Jeremy, what would he be able to do anyway? Sure, comfort him, but Jeremy had his own problems to worry about. Michael’s were different. Michael tried to convince himself that he was fine, that Jeremy was the one who needed help. Not him. Yet it's not that his friend wouldn't be willing or attentive to Michael’s aid, but it was Michael’s job to care about Jeremy, not the other way around. Jeremy couldn't do much anyway. He didn't want him to worry. Michael was fine.  
Michael took comfort in something that was more reliant, weed. Not the most healthy thing to rely on, but Michael convinced himself that it worked for him. Even though that drug powerpoint he had to do in the 8th grade would beg to differ; having claimed that “Marijuana heightened paranoia, maladjustment, mental instability,” and a bunch of big words he neglected to remember. Still Michael refused to believe the drug had negative effects on his anxiety.  
Once he felt that his body was calm enough, he attempted to stand, using the wall behind him to assist with balance. Upon standing his stomach immediately dropped, and he let out a small whimper as he felt/heard something in his back make a “pop” sound. Just standing caused him to feel exasperated and dizzy. Regretting his idea of standing, he slowly moved to a hands and knee position, and crawled over to his bed. He hid his weed under his bed. Not that he really needed to even hide it, his parents were never home, and never seemed to care what he did. He guessed that he did it just because the delight of hiding it made him feel like a rebel. He reached under his bed. His hand danced across the floor as he searched for the familiar feeling of a box. It had only now occurred to him that his glasses were no longer on his face, which made this occupation a lot more difficult. The feeling of the square shape pulled him from his thoughts. He plucked the small box out from under his bed, instantly opened it, and tried to firmly grasp the small, plastic bag shrouded inside.  
His hands were shaky and he mentally cursed at himself for not thinking this through, and for wrapping such a shitty made blunt. But what could he do? He grabbed his lighter. It took him several attempts to line the fire up against the blunt due to the unsteady shaking of his hands. He had almost given up, and contemplated smashing the lighter on the ground in a fit of rage, but he composed himself. He thought of how much better he’d feel after smoking, he thought of the smoke filling his lungs and providing relief, he thought of the way his mind balanced out everything negative as he gave way to the trip. Once the blunt was successfully lit, he had no hesitation. He pressed the round against his lips and inhaled. At first, he choked a little as he exhaled, not because this was his first time smoking weed, but because his breathing was still uneven and he was forcing narcotic air into his lungs. He took another drag, this time longer. Steadier. His hands, still shaking as he removed the blunt from his mouth. Exhale. His tear stained eyes followed, and watched with contentment as smoke slowly formed around him, then disappeared into the atmosphere. He closed his eyes and let the drug do its job. After a couple more drags his mind felt at ease, but his body was still trembling. To enjoy the moment a little more, Michael opened his eyes and scanned the room for his headphones and cell phone. Upon finding them, with the convenience of his headphone jack already being plugged into his phone, he tried to hold his hand steady as he reached for them and held them in his grasp. Successful, he turned on his phone and shuffled his downloaded music. Drums, guitars, pianos, and falsettos traveled through the headphone wire and pulsated into his mind. The whole world seemed to be in slow motion, and the once grey room seemed to grow with more colors becoming apparent. Michael wasn't sure if he was high off of the weed, music, or both, but either way.  
Michael changed position so he was laying on his back, facing the ceiling, music drilling through his brain. He now realized he wasn't shaking anymore, his breathing had refrained and returned to normal. As he took another drag from his blunt, he closed his eyes and just laid in silence. This night had been a huge disarray. Chaos. A heinous night. But now, he finally felt in control of his body. Michael slowly drifted into relaxation.  
He finally felt relief.


End file.
